so fascinated by this woman, because it’s been a long time since anyone caught my interest this way. For the last five years, I’ve been elbow-deep in helping my friend take his business to the next level, and plotting my own dream venture on the side. But all of that came to a screeching halt the second I caught whiff of my father’s early retirement and what it might mean for Foster & Co.
“What’s your agenda?” she asks, picking up the menu and flipping it open, her pearly pink nails—which seem too softly feminine and in stark contrast to the rest of her outfit—scanning the extensive list of options.
“My agenda?”
“The reason you’re out taking me for a drink when you should be with your family, consoling your stepbrother.” She spears me with a look. “You’re not doing this for shits and giggles.”
“Maybe I’m curious about the woman who stuck up for herself.”
“By running away.” She raises a brow.
“Would have been worse to stay when you felt cornered,” I point out. I want her to feel like I understand her actions. That I’m not judging her...which I’m not. She dodged a bullet. “It’s smarter than sticking around to draw swords.”
“Hmm.” She nods. “That wouldn’t have worked out too well for me. My mother would have said anything under the sun to make it seem like the problems were all in my head. Hell, I probably would have walked away thinking I’d imagined the whole thing.”
We pause as the waiter comes past our table, dressed in black pants and a waistcoat embroidered with gold thread. “What can I get you both?”
Presley is still scanning the menu, so I order my standard: a Negroni. A second later she looks up. “I’ll have a Widow’s Kiss.”
I left out a sharp laugh as the waiter walks away. “Widow’s Kiss? You ordered that for the name, right?”
“No, I love...” She glances at the menu. “Chartreuse and Bénédictine with brandy and bitters.”
I scrub a hand over my face. The Widow’s Kiss has a reputation in this bar. “You know they call it the ‘floor finder’ right?”
“Floor finder?”
“Because after you drink it, your face finds the floor real quick. It’s basically rocket fuel.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Maybe I’m feeling adventurous.”
And by adventurous, I’m pretty sure she means reckless. I don’t know much about Presley, beyond the snippets I got from my father in the few conversations we’ve had in the last year. He’d described her as a “nice girl” who seemed smart, like she’d keep Mike in line.
Despite knowing little about her, I feel like I’m not seeing the real Presley tonight.
“Tell me about you,” I say, leaning back in the chair, trying not to laugh at her deer-in-headlights look.
“Why?”
“We were going to be family—I’m interested.”
“Emphasis on the were, past tense. Your interest comes several days too late.” She crosses one leg over the other and my eyes catch the rise of her skirt hem as it creeps up her thighs, revealing the part of her legs where her black stockings are sheerest. There’s a tiny run, capped with the tell-tale shining reflection of a dot of nail polish. An imperfection. “Unless you’re after some kind of sick revenge for my devious getaway by making me talk about myself.”
I chuckle. “Come on, it’s not that bad. I thought people liked to talk about themselves—isn’t that the first tenant of dating?”
“One, this is not a date. Two, talking about yourself too much is egotistical.” She tugs the skirt down, but it slides back up the second she releases the fabric. “In fact, the whole reason I came out tonight was to do precisely the opposite. Drink until I forget that I’m an idiot, go home and sleep until lunchtime tomorrow and then be a slovenly mess until bedtime. No talking necessary.”
Hmm. Presley is going to be a tough nut to crack. I’d expected her to be ready to spill her guts, ready to cry on someone’s shoulder about how horrible my stepbrother is so that she could get it all out and, in the process, give me something useful to take to my father in support that Mike isn’t fit to be CEO. But Presley is a steel trap.
“Tell me about your sister, then. Identical twins? Comes in quite handy, I see.”
“We don’t pull the twin switch often. In fact, I’m pretty sure the last time it happened we were still living at home.” Presley’s face suddenly changes when she talks about her sister. Like she relaxes. “Drew always